


Bouquets of Marigolds

by xuanyu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Incest, M/M, Mentions of prior child sexual abuse, Sylvain is 15, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22765363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xuanyu/pseuds/xuanyu
Summary: Sylvain found that alcohol-- no matter how cheap, made the most disgusting acts pleasurable.Miklan found that a drunk Sylvain was ten times more insufferable, but with great benefits.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Miklan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 61





	Bouquets of Marigolds

**Author's Note:**

> This ain't 'technically' dubcon or consensual. It's rape. Sylvain's just a sexually abused teen who got drunk and found some comfort in his abuser.

Two heads of tousled red hair were sharp in contrast through the greenery, the two figures moving deeper within the expansive garden. It was decorated beautifully, but compared to the bustling movement within the House of Gautier it seemed eerily desolate, many of the lamps not having been lit. 

Sylvain had almost gone and made a fool of himself. Tonight their home was host to a special event and he had gone and gotten drunk, getting closer than respectable with the young noblewomen. His parents had intervened before their skirt chaser of a son angered the wrong lord.

Miklan had been tasked with keeping the young heir off the premises until his wits were about him. Begrudgingly, he accepted the task, but having to deal with his dear baby brother’s drunken stupor was starting to make his barely-there patience for the brat wane at a rapid pace.

Small bursts of giggles and childish laughter spilled from the boy, arms suddenly wrapping around Miklan’s own. The action irked the elder, but he kept at his leisurely pace. The fool was already fifteen. He should have long been accustomed to the effects of alcohol and become aware of his limits, but the heir loved pushing boundaries.

“Miklan…,” More laughter, “where are we goooooing?” Sylvain stumbles and falls to his knees, the grace of his hands holding onto Miklan’s own keeping his upper body from meeting the grass.

An irritated sigh comes from above and Sylvain’s hands are shaken off in favor of his wrist being grabbed, easily being hoisted back onto his feet. The first born barely spares the other a glance as he continues his trek, hand tight on the boy’s wrist as he drags him along. Sylvain whines at this, “Let me goooo. Where are we going? This sucks. Let’s go back to the party.”

“No.” Is all he gets in return and not before long they’ve already reached the intended destination: a lone, and while it hadn’t been visited in quite a while, well-maintained pavilion. It was far enough to not hear the chatter from the manor or be easily spotted, but close enough that when Sylvain was a bit more sober they could quickly return.

Miklan makes haste going under and occupying a bench, releasing the boy’s wrist. Sylvain momentarily forgets his desire to return and plops down on the cold, concrete seat next to the other. He feels incredibly warm against the coolness of the incoming fall, laughter spilling out though there was nothing to find amusing, “Miiiiiiklan.” A grunt. “Miklan!” A glance is spared, “What?” The single word spills out in that familiar grouchy tone.

That obnoxious grin was spread wide across boyish features and Sylvain irritatingly poked at Miklan’s cheek, their usual dynamic nowhere to be seen, “Turn that frown….upside down!!” The elder did not ‘turn that frown upside down’ and instead elbowed the other so his hand would remove itself. 

Sylvain pouts and tugs at Miklan’s arm even though he knows he might get hit again, “Let’s go back. I’m booooored. I know! I can help you score with some girlllllssss..” He slurs, a cheeky grin tight across his face once again. Miklan only returns a steely gaze which causes the youth to burst into a fit of giggles, doubling over in laughter, finding his offer so indescribably amusing.

The elder rolls his eyes, shoving the inebriated teen off the bench. Sylvain gasps in surprise and without a moment to prepare himself finds his face agains the concrete flooring of the gazebo. Miklan watches the boy scramble to sit up, hand flying to his nose but not reaching it before blood drips, stark against the grey of the floor. A whine of pain leaves Sylvain, slowly finding it in him to get back onto the seat, hand cradling his nose, smeared blood messy across his upper lip and hand. Tears threaten the corners of his eyes, voice coming out nasally and tight, “You’re such an asshole. I was just joking.”

Miklan swats his hand away to inspect the damage, taking the boy’s chin into his hand, turning the other from side to side, “Nothing’s broken. Quit whining.” The force of the fall was hard enough to hurt and draw blood, but his nose wasn’t bent any odd shape or discoloring. Sylvain juts his lower lip out as the other inspects him, “You should still kiss it better.” His tone is as pitiful as he can make it without giggling— though he isn’t the best actor with the amusement clear in his eyes.

That only deepens the scowl on the older man’s face, the stench of alcohol on the other’s breath making the statement even more aggravating.

However, he’s a victim to his own desires and he obliges— “Yeah, I’ll kiss it better.” And surprisingly enough, Sylvain doesn’t flinch when he moves in, covering the younger’s lips with his own. The boy lets brief laughter spill between the contact and reciprocates, sitting up to push himself closer to the other’s height. Miklan’s hand falls from the other’s face and instead he grabs at his hips, pulling him onto his lap, kiss breaking at the movement.

Sylvain snakes his arms around his brother’s neck and speaks softly, his glazed over eyes meeting the other’s hardened gaze, “Mmh, Miklan. I’m not a little kid. I know why you wanted to come out here. You don’t have to be soooo shy!~” Then he pushes in and their lips are locking again and Sylvain’s mind won’t process the twinge of fear at Miklan’s hold tightening on him at his words.

A calloused hand slides up his back until it settles in bright hair and yanks, baring pale neck towards the elder. Sylvain yelps at the action and doesn’t manage to get a protest out before a command is hot against his ear— “Shut. Up. Sylvain.” Then he’s yanking him up by his hair, forcing him to stand. “Ow—ow!” The youth squirms but has no choice and is lead by his hair.

Sylvain is pressed against the supporting beam of the pavilion, knee between his legs and iron hold on his wrists. He wants to complain at the rough treatment, but he’s weak once again when the other is pushing his tongue past his lips. The shudder than runs down his spine has him grinding against Miklan’s thigh and his fingers squirming, the need to roam urgent. When the taste from the dried blood on his upper lip mingles between them, Sylvain can’t help but groan.

The boy should feel some sort of fear— hesitation even. He was more than aware that this was Miklan. Who hurt him and touched him in ways no one should. Who treated him worse than scum for the crime of bearing a crest. Who was his brother. Yet, it felt so good to simply give in. It was difficult to resist when his own body was the perpetrator that yearned for that touch long imprinted on it. The alcohol simply eased the emotional burden he knew this act carried.

It was so simple to not think and just feel. Miklan releases his wrists and Sylvain wraps his arms around his neck again, feeling the other wander— a gasp spilling against the other’s lips when the hands on his ass force him to grind almost painfully against the leg between his own.

A cool breeze reminds him of their location— outside, clearly still visible despite nightfall and most importantly where any guard could stumble upon during their round.

Hands push against broad shoulders to break away from the other. Then words are spilling from Sylvain’s lips, swollen and pliant from the kiss, “Wait….mh-,” Another kiss, “Miklan….we can’t do this here.” — What was he saying? — “Anyone could walk out here.” — This was his broth—stop— Sylvain disperses the thoughts. Easier said than done to go through with this. Miklan begrudgingly pulls back and huffs in agreement. Anyone could stumble away from the event and witness them. 

The elder allows for the buzzed teen to recover himself for a moment before leading them away from the pavilion and through what seemed like a maze now in Sylvain’s still sobering mind. The hedges and color coordinated bushes and flowers seemed endless as he was guided towards the manor. 

Little mind was paid to them as they slipped back into the estate, Miklan deciding best to head to his room as the maids knew only to come when he requested them. The halls were silent save for the occasional echos of commotion across the manor.

Slipping into the dark of the room, Sylvain is pressed against the door almost as quick as its shut. Then Miklan’s looming over him again and his hands snake around his brother’s neck, pulling him down to lock lips once more. In the dark it’s even easier to forget who this man was and what he’s done to him. The youth groans when calloused hands squeeze at his ass and work their way around, undoing his trousers. He finds himself doing the same to the elder, albeit a bit more clumsily what with the alcohol still running through his veins and fumbling in the dark was a given.

Miklan is efficient, but rough in his movements, tugging Sylvain’s pants off down to half thigh before fingers slip under the boy’s boxers and taking him into his hold, delivering generous strokes. Sylvain gasps at the sensation, unceremoniously ending the kiss, his hands stopping their task as well. His nerves were alight as he babbled, “Ah— s’good.” A hand slid up from grasping Miklan’s belt in favor of his shirt, “Mhh…more—please.”

The elder was new to the youth being so eager, so desperate, so….so….—so willing. It was nothing short of addicting. Reluctantly, he pulls his hand away from Sylvain’s erection, ridding the boy of his clothing properly now, nearing ripping the shirt off of him. The small thought of him needing clothes once he departs the only thing that forces Miklan to tediously undo the buttons.

Sylvain feels as if his skin was searing hot. The alcohol in him, the other’s touches, the burning need to feel that heavy weight inside him, to simply cum. It was maddening. Despite his desperation, he says nothing as the elder leads him towards the bed in the dark, taking the time to light the oil lamp on the bedside. The silent moment almost allows Sylvain to think about what he’s doing, but the heat coiling within him tight and heavy won’t let him let this pleasure go. He’s on the bed before he can think too hard about it.

The sheets are clean, soft and incredibly cool against his feverish skin. Sylvain almost moans from the urge to grind his need against the bed, but the pop of a tin opening distracts him from the urge. He turns back and finds Miklan bare in the lower half, pouring a familiar liquid from the tin onto his fingers. He must have undressed while he was in his horny, drunken stupor.

It’s a biting cold and he expects it, but that doesn’t stop the yelp and his hips jerking away. Miklan steadies him, hand on hip, bringing fingers close once again and almost too easily slipping one in. Sylvain stutters out an exhale, focusing on relaxing as best as he can, the finger working him eagerly. With his mouth pressed to the sheets, noises are muffled, but enough of an indication to let Miklan know how to progress.

The first born introduces a second finger soon enough, his grip lowering, steel on the boy’s thigh. He’s stretching the ring of muscles as he does his best to ignore the other’s dripping erection. Sylvain nearly comes when Miklan finds that torturous spot. The incoherency threatens his already muddled mind when those fingers begin to tease it.

It was always used against him, making their typical horrific act one of a burdensome shame. The pleasure conflicted his young mind. Now, however, he craved it. If he didn’t get it, he didn’t….he didn’t…. Oh, he couldn’t think. His hips pushed back against those fingers, desperate, Miklan’s name slipping past his lips, hungry and full of want. 

“Oh…G-Goddess…” He’s weak, face to the sheets, eyes rolling back. Miklan could sense it coming, that hole pulsing around his fingers, cock twitching between thighs. He works the boy throughout it, fingers cruel against his prostate, other hand coming to pump him as he’s spilling against the sheets. Hands only cease when the oversensitive youth pathetically begs for him to yield.

It’s quite a sight to behold when he removes himself, watching the younger shake at the aftershocks of the orgasm with a thin layer of sweat already present and sheets bunched up under his fingers.

Miklan busies himself on removing the rest of his own garments as the boy comes down from the intense high. Sylvain tunes back in at the sink of the bed under the new weight, lucid enough to lift his head up and take in his surroundings. Coming face to face with his brother, he can’t help but feel a little bit exposed, moving to sit up. Brown eyes purposely avoided the hard length of the other who now comfortably leaned against the headboard. A hand reaches out and without thinking it over too hard he takes ahold of it and moves closer to the elder.

Sylvain still felt incredibly limbless from his prior orgasm, but did as he was guided too, straddling the elder. He registers an inkling of sobriety whispering the depravity he’s participating in as Miklan pulls him into another flurry of kisses. 

And he finds it so easy to melt back into the carnal side of this, pressing chest to chest and hands against broad shoulders. Domineering hands are on his hips and he’s pulled flush against the other, already aware of the excitement, hard and aching, against his backside. Reaching behind, he takes his brother into his hold, feeling his face run hot at the feeling. His erection was no longer aching and hard, but he needed this. Breaking the kiss, he pulls away.

It’s easier than he’d ever admit when he lifts his hips and he lowers himself on the other, his hand guiding the girth. Sylvain’s expression couldn’t hide the burden of receiving, eyebrows knitting further together and teeth digging further into his lower lip the more he took in. It’s halfway buried when he stops, panting and feels those heavy hands against his hips and the rest of the work is done for him.

Sylvain is breathless when the first born bottoms out against him and he thinks it’s never felt this big before. A sob spills past his lips and the odd feeling of the other simply in him coaxes him to move after a while. 

Miklan watches with a restrained fascination at those small hands splaying flat against his taut stomach and his brother pushing himself up with intense concentration. As much as he wants to discard his restraint and fuck the boy senseless, it was just as much worth it to watch the other willingly get himself off using his cock.

However, he never finds the proper rhythm and the drunk babbles, “Miklan- please. More…more. It’s too much..I—ugh-” The elder lays his feet flat against the bed and Sylvain can only stay upright by the hold Miklan has on his thighs when he pounds into that heat. Sylvain’s hands fly to his lips to smother the noises. Sylvain can’t think. It was—“mph”—too much. If not for clenched teeth and shaking fingers, the noises that would spill out might alert someone.

When Miklan’s pace settled to something calmer, Sylvain’s shaky hands once again settled on the other’s stomach for support and he can spare a thought to move along with the other. Hesitantly, he rolls his hips and once his movements meet the other’s thrusts, he can’t restrain his voice. 

“Oh, fuck, ah, mikl— ugh. Feels good..” Miklan nearly cums taking this all in, but he resists though a groan manages to slip past.

Sylvain takes himself into his hand, dick having stirred to life once more and he can’t tease himself with making this last. He wanted to cum. He wanted to feel the other cum inside him. 

“H-harder…I want you to, mnn…cum inside…” The boy was insatiable and Miklan couldn’t help but deliver.

Then it doesn’t take long with Sylvain being the first to tip over— hips stuttering and doubling over atop the other. As the waves of pleasure wash over him, he urges Miklan up, pulling him into a lazy and open-mouthed kiss. And that intimacy from the boy is enough for the elder, groaning and burying himself to fill the boy, chasing the other’s orgasm with his own. They part to catch their breaths.

Sylvain is spent and hardly responsive as he’s recovering from the second orgasm, a whimper faltering out at the feel of the other pulling out. He feels incredibly hot against the other’s body heat and in his sliver of lucidity he wills himself to sit up, limbs protesting at every movement. He can’t bringing himself to meet his brother’s gaze.

Nothing can be said. They weren’t lovers. They weren’t even friends. Sylvain, just as before, feels horribly exposed and says nothing as he slides off of his brother’s waist and off the bed, gathering his clothes. His fingers shake as he redresses himself. His sobering mind conflicted in the inherent disgust of the act and the pleasure he just relished in.

“Come here.” Sylvain hears the gruff command from the bed. Reluctantly, he complies, keeping his eyes downcast as he stands in front of the other who now sat on the edge of the bed, boxers covering his modesty.

Miklan makes quick work of fixing Sylvain’s clothes, his buttons paired incorrectly. It was a thick silence that muddled the air as the elder worked, tucking in the boy’s shirt proper, fixing the collar, and wiping the dried blood off his lips with a nearby handkerchief, “Sober now?”

The youth snaps up at the other and gives him a hard glare before it softens into shame. He simply nods, not thanking the other and scurrying out of the room to escape the situation.

…

It wasn’t long after that Miklan would be disinherited. For reasons far unrelated, but with more damage left behind than most knew. Sylvain could only watch as his brother was removed from the estate— a cold sweat on his skin and a plea from the damage done finding it unbearable to part from the abuse that had become customary. The heir swallowed hard and turned away.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed.


End file.
